


Fate

by kaze_chan



Series: Second Chances [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Instability, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Teen Aramis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 16:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7369375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaze_chan/pseuds/kaze_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Was it like this when I moved in?” Aramis finally asked once Olivier had gone to bed. “Tell me I wasn’t that …. skittish.”</p><p>Pothos considered his answer carefully. “Yes and no; you were older and very vocal about everything but yes, you were still skittish.” He remembered all those times during that first year when he had learned to maneuver around Aramis. “You, my friend, were a flight risk.”</p><p>***<br/>Prequel story for New Life, New Family. What exactly did Porthos mean by flight risk? How did Porthos and Aramis meet?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Cold Night

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone for the great support and comments I received for my first venture into the world of AU/Musketeers, you've really kept me going. And as promised, here is the prequel story. 
> 
> You don't need to have read the other one first, they are I suppose interchangeable in order, but seeing as Aramis' past is part of the main plot in the other story, you will be left with a lot of unanswered questions if you haven't yet read New Life, New Family. I've done my best to keep Aramis' secrets out of the prequel because 1) I didn't want to ruin the punch of the other story, and 2) well..... read the other story "to fill in the gaps".
> 
> This started out as one chapter, and has since ballooned in size. Also, I've worked and reworked much of it because after rereading it, I found Aramis wasn't "unbalanced" enough for the prequel.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy! Drop me a comment to let me know.  
> kaze_chan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “One night?” the boy asked again as if he hadn’t heard him, and Porthos simply nodded, the fact he hadn’t given him a name not lost on him. 
> 
> Slowly, the boy dragged himself to his feet and Porthos almost reached out several times to help, but held back, not wanting to over stepped the thin line of trust. The two walked towards his truck, an awkward silence falling between them as the kid did his best to keep himself steady on shaking legs, while Porthos did his best to look like he didn’t notice how much the boy was struggling.

Porthos always hated coming to this end of town. 

It wasn’t the derelict buildings or the garbage that littered the streets, nor was it the fact that this entire subdivision was known to be overrun with drug trafficking and gangs. No, for him it was the kids.

The deserted streets and abandoned laneways made it the perfect place for runaways and homeless people. Here, everyone minded their own business, and as a rule, didn’t get involved with anyone else’s; this was an-everyman-for-themselves type of neighbourhood, leaving everyone weary and distrustful of everyone else.

After the death of his mother, he moved from foster home to foster home, all of them the same in some respects while different in others, but none of them ever seemed to be home and so he spent the better half of his youth looking, searching for whatever seemed to be missing. He had fallen in with the wrong crowd, and more than likely would have ended up on these streets, just another statistic, if it hadn’t been for a chance meeting with Captain Treville, the new police chief.

Pushing that aside, he focused instead on the reason why he was here. There were rumors of a large amount of drugs being held up in the area, and they had just finished checking out a known cash house. The lead proved to be a bust and now he and his partner, D’Artagnan, were calling it quits for the day.

They stopped at a local convenient store to pick up something to eat since they had spent all day looking for leads and had completely skipped lunch, leaving the men famished. There was nothing special about this place, the food was your standard pre-packaged food, and the floors were stained to a point that there was no use trying to wash them, but Porthos always felt that by stopping here and buying something, he was helping the store owner as well as the community.

While d’Artaganan poured himself a cup of coffee, which he once said tasted like sewer water mixed with rust, Porthos decided to wait outside, taking the time to get some fresh air. He took in the deserted store fronts that neighbored the store and wondered, not for the first time, how does a section of town get to be so rundown in the first place?

He stood facing the side alley for some time, mulling over the case details before his brain registered the outline of a foot sticking out of a pile of cardboard boxes. That in itself wasn’t too unusual since many homeless have flocked to this area, but the size of the shoe is what caught the older man’s attention.

Moving slowly, he made his way towards the alley giving the pile of boxes a wide berth, caution something he had learned he always needed in this area of town. As he got closer, he could start to see the outlines of a boy huddled under some cardboard boxes and for a second he feared he was looking at a dead body, again not uncommon for this end of town. But then the leg moved and the boy curled into himself, trying to keep out the rapidly cooling air.

Porthos stood there, at a loss for words as he took in the sight in front of him. A boy, no older than 14 was lying on his side, his knees pulled in close to his chest in a pile of boxes. It always pulled at his heart strings when his job came across kids, especially runaways.

Carefully he crouched down, “hey, kid.” He reached out to shake the boys’ shoulder, taking in the boy’s ragged clothing. “Wake up kid.”

Porthos frowned as he watched the boy start to wake, his worry growing as his movements were slow and sluggish. When he did manage to pry his eyelids open, the pupils were wide and it took a few more minutes than it should have to focus.

Immediately the boy started to push himself up, frantic to put some distance between himself and the bigger man.

“It’s okay, I’m a cop, see…” he held out his badge for the boy to see, “I’m not going to hurt you, it’s alright.”

For a split second it looked like the boy was calming down, but with a sudden burst of speed Porthos hadn’t thought possible, the kid took off at a full run down the alley without so much as a second glance to see if he was being followed. Porthos stared in shock, his feet frozen in place as his breathe caught in his throat.

Just before the boy took off, their eyes met and in them, Porthos’ saw so much fear and pain, his pupils wide with a wild panic that he had no words to describe, but it left him feeling cold.

“Porthos,” he jumped feeling a hand on his shoulder.

“Jesus d’Artagnan,” he rounded on his partner, who had taken a full step back when the bigger man leapt to his feet.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he answered back, a small smile playing on his lips as he looked past him, trying to see what had caught the other man’s attention in the first place. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he answered, turning his attention back towards the end of the alley. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Sitting on his couch, Porthos couldn’t stop thinking about the kid from the alley, especially since a cool breeze had started and the forecast was calling for rain over night. There was just something about the boy’s frightened expression that cemented itself in his memory, and after 20 minutes of flipping through channels absentmindedly, Porthos grabbed his keys and headed for the door, not entirely sure what he was going to do.

The kid wasn’t hard to find, even in the dark, since he had not wandered very far from where Porthos had last seen him.

“Hi there,” he called out, trying not to sound threatening, but instantly realised how impossible that was given his sheer size and the time of night. 

“What do you want?” came the nervous reply as the boy scrambled to a sitting position, his back pressed against a fence like a cornered animal.

“It’s okay, I’m not here to hurt you,” Porthos tried to reassure him by crouching down to eye level while keeping his hands in view. “I just wanted to check up on you, that’s all.” The truth was he really didn’t know what he wanted or why he had driven out here.

The boy stared at him with so much mistrust and fear that it wrenched at his heart, and when those scared brown eyes finally locked with his, he knew why he had come.

“Listen, it’s going to get really cold and rain tonight, you’ll get sick if you stay out here,” he started, getting straight to the point, watching the boy’s reaction. Porthos knew he wasn’t going to chase down the kid if he decided to make a run for it, but he really did want the boy to consider his next words. “Why don’t you come spend the night at my place, have a decent meal and somewhere warm to sleep.”

Immediately the boy’s breathing increased and his gaze starting roaming, no doubt looking for an escape. “Just one night,” he quickly added trying to calm the boy’s rising panic. “I promise I won’t make you stay or ask any questions. Just one night.”

He held out a finger and the kid’s attention seemed to lock on it, and he noticed with great satisfaction that the boy’s breathing seemed to have evened out, though it was still faster than it should be.

“Just one night?” he asked tentatively, weighing his options in his mind.

Porthos kept his voice even, “just one night, I promise.” 

“Are you really a cop?”

“Yes, well detective actually.” 

The kid scrutinized him from head to toe, the internal conflict visible in his eyes as he tried to decide whether he should go or not. Porthos waited, giving the boy to time to think it over, despite the fact it was clear the boy needed to get out of the cold soon before he got sick.

Suddenly, the boy pulled his knees to his chest and folded his arms around them, clutching tightly to the fabric while his gaze became clouded and his eyes opened wide in fear, his small frame rocking back and forth.

“Hey,” Porthos reached out grabbing his shoulder, slightly concerned when the boy didn’t seem to notice the movement. “Are you alright? Kid?”

And just as suddenly, the boy blinked, and that clouded blank stare was gone.

Porthos frowned as he watched the kid take in his surroundings, as if for a second he didn’t remember where he was or why. 

“Are you alright?” he asked again once the boy’s breathing evened out and he stopped rocking, a small relief to see him nod, though he still seemed agitated. “Do you remember where you are?”

He was rewarded with a sarcastic frown, “seriously?”

Porthos let out a small chuckle, not expecting the smart ass remark. “okay, my name’s Porthos,” he offered, hoping to be finally making some kind of bond with the boy.

“One night?” the boy asked again as if he hadn’t heard him, and Porthos simply nodded, the fact he hadn’t given him a name not lost on him. 

Slowly, the boy dragged himself to his feet and Porthos almost reached out several times to help, but held back, not wanting to over stepped the thin line of trust. The two walked towards his truck, an awkward silence falling between them as the kid did his best to keep himself steady on shaking legs, while Porthos did his best to look like he didn’t notice how much the boy was struggling.

“So do you have a name?” he asked as they reached the truck, the doors unlocking with a small beep.

The boy was breathing hard again, the short walk and the energy needed to get in the truck seemingly having exhausted what little reserves of energy he had left. Porthos started the engine, noticing the kid hadn’t done up his seatbelt but still held onto the door handle, ready for a quick escape it seemed, but his eyes were closed.

“Aramis,” came the whispered reply.

Porthos took a few seconds to study the boy before putting the truck in drive, noticing how pale he was, dark circles around his eyes and nearly hollow cheek bones. He had seen many teens on these streets look like this from lack of proper food and drug addiction, and from what he could see, this looked no different.

****

“Here we are,”Porthos announced as he unlocked the door to his apartment. He held the door for Aramis as the boy hesitantly stepped forwards, shifting uncomfortably in the small hallway space, clearly rethinking this arrangement. “Why don’t you head into the living room and I’ll get you some blankets.”

He watched as Aramis cautiously moved forwards, looking around nervously as if he was expecting someone else to leap out at him. The entire drive over, the boy had not seemed to relax an inch, instead he remained tense and skittish, casting weary glances at Porthos in the driver seat. 

Quickly, he moved about his apartment collecting things he had lying around before heading towards the linen closet to find some blankets. Coming back to the living room he found Aramis standing off to the side looking very unsure of himself. When he noticed the bigger man staring at him, the boy looked like he was about to bolt towards the door.

“Just one night, remember?” Porthos encouraged, having seen the small shift.

“One night,” Aramis breathed out, more for his own benefit.

Porthos quickly made a bed of blankets on the couch, and when Aramis still didn’t make a move towards the makeshift bed, Porthos wished him good night, assuming it was his presence that kept the boy on guard. As he changed into his pyjamas and crawled into his own bed, knowing fully well that he would barely sleep at all, he hoped he hadn’t made a mistake by trusting the boy. Deep down he knew there were very good chances the boy would be gone by morning, having cleaned him out of anything valuable, but for some reason Porthos found himself hoping he was wrong.

The next morning, after lying awake in his bed for what seemed like hours, Porthos made his way to the kitchen, apprehension mounting as he inched closer down the hall to the living room. Everything was quiet and when he finally rounded the corner, he was hit with a wave of disappointment when his eyes fell on an empty couch, the blankets he so carefully laid out still untouched.

He really thought he had made a connection with the boy last night, but it seemed it had been only one sided. He was about to take a step when movement at the far right of the living room caught his attention. Huddled near the corner, Aramis was sleeping on the ground with his back against the wall, much in the same way he had been sleeping in the alley the day before. 

Porthos smiled, happy to see the boy was still here after all, but slightly alarmed that the boy chose to sleep on the ground. He didn’t have much time to ponder why that was as Aramis started stirring awake. Deciding it would probably be unnerving to wake up with some stranger watching you, Porthos carried on towards the kitchen in a way he hoped seemed nonchalant, making more noise than necessary while he made himself breakfast, and setting a second bowl on the table for Aramis.

He was half way through his bowl of cereal when the dishevelled boy appeared in the doorway, looking once again very unsure of himself, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

“Morning, you hungry?” Porthos pulled out the chair next to him in an open invitation, not bothering to ask if he had slept well.

Aramis eyed him for a second, still trying to make up his mind about whether or not he should trust this man, before nodding and taking the offered seat. He did his best to stop his hands from shaking as he poured some cereal in his bowl, followed by some milk, fully aware Porthos was watching him.

They ate in silence.

Now in full light, Porthos could finally get a better look at Aramis and what he saw had him clenching his fist by his side. The boy had looked sick last night, but in daylight he looked like he was going to fall over any minute. He was pale, almost green, with barely an ounce of fat on him, but what struck Porthos the most was how he swayed in his seat, as if too weak to even hold himself upright.

“Listen, I know we said one night,” he started, quickly noticing how Aramis’ gaze flickered to the door as if measuring the distance. “It’s alright, I ain’t gonna stop you from leaving, but hear me out,” he waited till Aramis gave him his full attention. “I’m going to be at work all day, so feel free to stick around for a little bit if you want to take a shower, or get a few more hours of sleep, and you can even help yourself to anything in the fridge, and when you’re ready to leave just close the door behind you.”

He watched as Aramis thought it over, clearly not at ease with the idea of trusting someone else, his hand running through his hair above his right ear, and so Porthos made the decision for him, quickly finishing his breakfast and putting his dishes in the sink.

“Well, I’m late for work,” he announced, quickly grabbed his phone and keys from the table in the hall and slipping on his shoes and coat before Aramis could protest. “Just don’t break anything,” he called back before closing the door, and leaving a very confused Aramis still sitting in the kitchen.

The day seemed to drag on for ever, and it was with very mix feelings that Porthos turned to doorknob to his apartment later that night, not sure if Aramis was still there. The lights were all off and the apartment was quiet, but Aramis’ tattered shoes were still by the door where he had left them the night before. 

He let out a breathe he didn’t know he was holding, relieved to see the boy was still here. He debated about calling out so not to scare him but then decided against it figuring he was probably sleeping, and the last thing he wanted to do was startle him awake. Quietly he made his way towards the living room, expecting to find Aramis fast asleep. Instead, he could hear faint muttering as he got closer, the words too jumbled to make out, but the tone was anything but calm.

Rounding the corner cautiously, Porthos spotted Aramis sitting in the same corner as before, his legs pulled in close to his chest while his hands were buried in his hair on either side of his head. From where he was, Porthos couldn’t tell if his eyes were opened or not, but the entire seen sent goosebumps up the detective’s arms.

He hesitated, unsure how best to proceed or how to even approach him. He had of course been trained to deal with all kinds of behavior for the job, but nothing could ever prepare you for the real thing, and standing there in his living room staring down at the small huddled boy who was so caught up in his mumbling to notice his arrival suddenly felt above and beyond his skill level.

“Aramis?” 

He wasn’t surprise when he didn’t get an answer, and he hesitated for a moment, trying to decide what to do next.

Slowly he made his way forwards, the mumbling still undecipherable, and he noticed with worry that even though Aramis’ eyes were open, there was no hint of recognition in them, they simply stared straight ahead.

“Aramis,” he tried again to get his attention, “Aramis?”

The second his hand reached out and touched Aramis’ knee, the boy erupted in movement, his small arms lashing out at anything and everything within reach, primarily aimed at Porthos. 

“NNNOOOOOOO!! NO ME TOQUES!!!” 

All of a sudden, Porthos found himself with his arms full of a very combative Aramis, the small arms and legs lashing out. He quickly grabbed Aramis’ arms, trying to protect both himself and the boy from harm. Spinning him around, he held Aramis’ back pressed to his chest, like he had been taught in police academy, but despite the difference in size, Aramis’ violent struggles almost knocked the bigger man off his feet several times.

“Aramis, it’s me,” he tried in between breathes, struggling to keep a tight grip on the boy while he thrashed about, as if in some sort of dream. Realising it was a futile effort to try and reason with him while he was in this state, Porthos concentrated instead on keeping Aramis contained while he waited for the boy to exert himself.

After what seemed like hours, though Porthos knew it was only minutes, Aramis’ struggles weakened as all the energy and fight drained from his body, leaving his small chest heaving as he gasped for breath. 

“Aramis?” he tried again.

There was no answer, but Porthos knew Aramis had heard him this time. “Aramis, are you ….”, he was stopped short when Aramis’ body started convulsing. 

“Shit,” he tightened his grip and sunk to the floor as tremors took hold of Aramis, shaking the boy from head to toe before finally the boy slumped unconscious against him.

“Aramis? Aramis????….” 

Aramis’ head lulled to the side against Porthos’ shoulder as the older man frantically searched for a pulse. Finding one, Porthos allowed his own breathing time to even out before trying to get up.

Bending down, he gently hooked one of his arms under the boy’s legs and wrapped the other around his back, easily lifting him off the ground.

He brought him over to the couch and laid him flat, his own adrenaline sending small shivers up his spine. He felt light headed once the boy’s weighted left his arms, and he sat back on his heels staring in shock, feeling like his breath had been knocked out of him. It was only now his brain registered that Aramis had called out in Spanish, and from his experience dealing with people in distress, he could probably safely assume that the boy’s native tongue was Spanish.

As he watched Aramis sleep, he mentally started weighing his options, trying to figure out his next move. There was no way he could, or would, kick Aramis out on the street now, the boy needed professional help. The only problem was he already knew Aramis wouldn’t agree and more than likely the boy would make a run for it, Porthos having seen that look in his eye more than once already. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, not taking his eye off the sleeping boy, and let out a deep breath. 

“What the hell have I gotten myself into.”

***

Breakfast the next morning was filled with an awkward silence. 

Porthos was biting his tongue all morning, not wanting to go back on his word about asking questions but desperate to find out what last night’s episode was all about. Aramis for his part, didn’t seem to even acknowledge the incident, instead he just sat there, his untouched bowl of cereal in front of him, casting odd glances around the kitchen every once in a while, his brow knitted in concentration as if he was trying to work something out.

“Would you like something else?” Porthos finally asked, not sure what Aramis was looking at.

Aramis blinked his attention back to Porthos, before quickly averting his gaze.

“No,” he concentrated on his hands as they fiddled with the place mat. “Thank you for letting me stay the night.”

Now it was Porthos’ turn to be confused. “What?”

“One night,” he said in lieu of explanation, sounding a little deflated while he continued to fiddle with the place mat. 

Two nights, Porthos clarified but didn’t say out loud. Did Aramis not remember yesterday? From the look on the boy’s face Porthos suspected he wasn’t faking, he really looked utterly lost and confused.

“Umm… how about you spend the day again,” he offered, eyeing the boy carefully. “Get some rest.”

Aramis’ head snapped up, confusion evident in that blank stare, something Porthos had already seen too often.

“Again?”

Porthos stared back, trying to keep his face as expressionless as possible. Inside, his mind was racing trying to make sense of this conversation. “I’m going to be at work again all day, so you can stick around as long as you like. The place is all yours for the day.” 

Aramis said nothing, simply stared.

“I told you that yesterday,” Porthos explained calmly, making sure he understood.

“That was real?” the boy muttered, bringing his right hand to his temple. “That really happened?”

A heavy silence descended over the kitchen. 

“Okay, why don’t you stay here and get some rest. I’ll see you later, alright?” He put his bowl in the sink and headed towards the hall, checking over his shoulder as he went for the door. Aramis was still sitting at the kitchen table, his hand rummaging in his hair line while looking like he was trying to figure out a very complicated puzzle.

Once inside his truck, Porthos allowed his panic to catch up with him. He clutched the steering wheel with both hands as he worked to calm down. “Oh crap!”

There was something wrong. 

This went way beyond just a good night’s rest. He needed medical attention, but seeing as it took a great deal of convincing on his part just to get Aramis here, he doubted very much he would be able to bring the boy to a hospital without tying him up.

Porthos mentally started going through his list of contacts, before finally landing on a name.

Constance d’Artagnan.

She was his partner’s wife, and a registered nurse. She was kind and had this gentle nature about her that easily earned people’s trust. Maybe, just maybe Aramis would let Constance do a check-up, it was worth a try anyway. But he would have to be patient, careful not to push Aramis too fast for fear of chasing him off.


	2. Needing help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos could see the panic in his eyes as his gaze fixed on the two strangers before flickering around the room, and for a second he could have sworn he’d seen Aramis eyeing the balcony window as a possible escape point, never mind that they were on the 14th floor. 
> 
> Taking another step forwards, Porthos tried to divert his attention from the certain fatal leap. “Constance is a nurse and I asked her to come take a look at you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait, I got sucked into the world of The Walking Dead. But to make it up to you all here's a half-chapter. 
> 
> I've had this story mostly written when I posted the first chapter, but I've been very undecided about how much time I want to explore with this story. At first it was simple a few weeks but as more pieces get added, I find myself wanting to explore Porthos and Aramis' first few months together.
> 
> So here we go. Now it's Constance and d'Artagnan's turn to meet Aramis.

Four days later, Aramis was still at Porthos’ apartment, but rest was not a word he would have used to describe his stay. Aramis’ days were a mix of calm and outbursts, while his nights were plagued by nightmares which left him screaming and gasping for breath, and Porthos was never sure how Aramis was going to react. Some nights he was combative, others nights quiet and confused. To top it all, Aramis ate little and what he did eat often ended up in the toilet or a bucket, if his stomach had anything to say about it.

After his latest nightmare left him retching long after his stomach was emptied, and more confused than Porthos has ever seen, the older man decided it was time to call Constance, despite what Aramis may want.

Constance and d’Artagnan arrived less than a half hour later, her first aid kit tucked under her arm. Porthos had told his partner about Aramis but he had been very vague about the details, and the older detective desperately wanted to know more about this runaway.

“He’s got major trust issues, so…” Porthos suddenly had second thoughts as he closed the door behind the two, “no sudden movements, alright?”

Constance and d’Artagnan nodded, the two fully understanding the true meaning behind the warning. 

As they entered the living room, Aramis scrambled to his feet with lightning speed, a difficult task given how much his legs were shaking.

“It’s alright,” Porthos quickly stepped forwards, seeing the fear in Aramis’ eyes as he stared at the d’Aratagnans. “These are friends of mine, this is Constance and d’Artagnan.” 

“I’m not going back!!” Aramis shouted, moving backwards until his back hit the wall. “I’M NOT GOING BACK!!!”

“Aramis,” Porthos moved into his line of sight, “You’re not going anywhere, Aramis. It’s okay. You can trust them.”

Porthos could see the panic in his eyes as his gaze fixed on the two strangers before flickering around the room, and for a second he could have sworn he’d seen Aramis eyeing the balcony window as a possible escape point, never mind that they were on the 14th floor. 

Taking another step forwards, Porthos tried to divert his attention from the certain fatal leap. “Constance is a nurse and I asked her to come take a look at you.”

“I don’t need a doctor. There’s nothing wrong with me!”

“That’s not what I meant,” he quickly added, reaching out slowly and pointedly ignoring the small flinch when his hand settled softly on Aramis’ shoulder, “Constance is just going to do a little check to see why you’re not feeling well, that’s all.”

Porthos’ words sunk in, that much he could tell, but the boy still looked ready to dive for the balcony. Aramis didn’t relax as he’d hoped he would, and it was only now that Porthos realised what had him so on edge.

Aramis’ full attention was solely focused on d’Artagnan; the one person in the room whom he seemed to have identified as a threat. Looking over his shoulder towards his partner, Porthos could easily see why.

Charles d’Artagnan was not a muscular man, but he always stood to his full height, and standing there in the entryway with his gun tied to his hip and his badge in plain sight, there was no mistaking that this was a seasoned officer who could take down almost anyone. 

“Why don’t you wait for us in the kitchen, love,” Constance encouraged, correctly reading the tense situation. “Porthos will be there in a second.”

D’Artagnan crossed his arms, ready to say something but one sharp sideways look from his wife had him biting back any protest. Instead, he simply nodded before turning towards the kitchen, casting one last look towards the boy. Clearly, the mistrust was mutual.

“There now,” Constance flashed her brightest smile towards Aramis, “that’s better isn’t it? Come on now, let take a look at yah.” 

After a few seconds, Aramis’ shoulders finally relaxed, and both Constance and Porthos let out a breath. 

“Come on,” he waited till the boy’s breathing evened out before continuing, “let’s get you sitting down.”

Aramis took a wobbly step and would have fallen if Porthos hadn’t been there to catch him. He could feel Porthos’ arms holding him up, but for the first time in years, he didn’t feel threatened by it. 

“No hospitals,” he wheezed, weakly grabbing at Porthos’ arm as he led him back towards the couch.

Sinking into the seat, Aramis fixed his attention on the woman still in the door way, and then to the first aid kit in her arms.

“No hospitals or needles,” he amended unable to tear his gaze away from the medical bag.

Porthos could feel Aramis grip tightening on his arm. “Okay, no hospitals or needles, I promise.” But Aramis still didn’t look convinced, eyeing the new arrival with open distrust and fear.

After a lot of coxing and promises, Aramis finally agreed to let Constance do a check-up. He sat on the edge of the couch, his back rigid and tense, his eyes wide with fear. He visibly flinched when Constance touched him, and he paled considerably when she reached in her bag. Porthos quickly added hospitals and doctors to the growing list of things that caused panic attacks, as he joined d’Artagnan in the kitchen to give Constance room to work.

Though Aramis hadn’t offered any personal information, Porthos was starting to piece things together, and what he was seeing wasn’t pretty.

“I don’t like this Porthos.” D’Artagnan was leaning against the counter, his arms still crossed over his chest. “You sure no one’s looking for him? He doesn’t look old enough to be out on his own.”

“I checked the missing person’s database,” Porthos rubbed a tired hand over his face, “no hits on the name Aramis but I doubt he gave me his real name.”

“How long do you plan on letting him stay here?”

Porthos didn’t have an answer to that, “honestly, that’s up to him.”

“Did you file a report?” d’Artagnan asked, though the look on Porthos’ face was enough of an answer. “Porthos you need to write a report. You don’t know where this kid comes from, for all we know he could have a warrant for him somewhere.”

“I know, I know,” he huffed out in frustration. As a cop he knew he had to file a report, but he had been avoiding it. The report would require Aramis to give a statement and he was afraid the skittish boy would run off. “He’s scared and has major trust issues. I seriously think he only came with me because he was starving. I don’t know what happened to him, but I can tell you it ain’t good.”

D’Artagnan nodded, understanding the difficult position his partner was in. Throughout his career he’d come across many kids who didn’t have a loving home or caring parents, and it broke his heart every time he wasn’t able to help them, but here was one kid that might get the help he needed.

“Alright, can someone please explain to me why this boy isn’t at the hospital?” she demanded in a rushed whisper as she entered the kitchen, her gaze fixed on Porthos. “He has a slight fever, he’s dehydrated, malnourished, and his pupils are dilated. He needs to be in a hospital for a proper medical evaluation.”

“It’s complicated,” Porthos answer, looking past her to see where Aramis was. “I know he’s sick, but if I push too much, he’ll just take off.”

“If he leaves I doubt we’ll ever find him again,” d’Artagnan summed up. 

“Trust me I know he needs to be hospitalized, but is there anything you can do?” He pleaded, hoping she would understand.

She let out a deep breath, also casting a glance over her shoulder. “Well, without running any blood tests, I would have to say it looks like his body is fighting some kind of addiction, but without a proper medical check-up, there no way of knowing for sure.”

“That’s what I thought.” Porthos suspected as much since that sudden outburst on the first day. “He barely eats and looks like he’s on edge all the time.”

“Yeah well, it’s a package deal I’m afraid.” She folded her arms and leaned back against the counter. “If he tells you what drugs he’s been taken, then we’ll have a better idea of what we’re up against, and how to deal with it.”

“Easier said than done,” Porthos admitted quietly, “it’s not like he’s been very forth coming with any personal information.”

“Seizures?”

“Just one… that I know of.”

“Does he have moments when he’s confused?”

Porthos nodded, “usually after nightmares, like he doesn’t know where he is anymore.”

Constance frowned at the new piece of information, “how often?”

“Umm,” Porthos thought for a second, “often enough. Why? Is that bad?”

“We’ll, it’s not good. We’ll just have to keep an eye on that. Let me know right away if he has any more seizures. Has he been sick?”

Porthos nodded.

“That could be from many things, but it looks like he hasn’t had a decent meal in weeks, so stick to plain broths and soup till his stomach can adjust. And make sure he drinks lots of water. He should improve in a few days with plenty of rest.”

Again Porthos nodded, mentally taking note of the instructions.

“And if anything changes, anything at all, you call 911 right away, you understand me?” Constance tone brokered no argument, and Porthos knew there would be hell to pay if he disobeyed her orders. “Alright I’ll come check on him again tomorrow night.”

When the d’Artagnan’s left shortly after, Porthos took a long breath before heading back into the living room. Predictably, Aramis was no longer sitting on the couch but had instead retreated to the safety of the living room corner.

Porthos made his way over, slightly worried by the teen’s silence, and took a seat next to him, his back pressed against the wall. He was torn. He needed to ask questions, needed to know what had happened to the boy but he didn’t want to go back on his word and betray what little trust he had gained.

“I never took drugs.” 

The words were barely a whisper but the confidence with which they were spoken filled the entire room. Aramis slowly lifted his head from his knees to level a steady stare at Porthos, his gaze surprisingly sharp and clear. The stark difference caught him off guard, and as he stared back he couldn’t help but see someone entirely different than the boy he had brought home.

“If you’re going to talk about someone in secret, you should make sure they can’t overhear you,” Aramis continued, mistaking Porthos’ silence for confusion. “I could hear you all in the kitchen.”

“It wasn’t a secret,” Porthos quickly explained, still a little unsettled by the drastic change in demeanor. “We were just trying to see how we could help you.”

“Help,” Aramis scoffed in such a bitter tone that it made Porthos frown, “that’s what they said.” 

Porthos was about to ask him to elaborate on who they were, but Aramis’ attention had turned to a point across the room. “Aramis?” 

When he turned his attention back to the man, the rare moment of lucidness was gone, and Porthos was once again staring at the confused boy from the alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still hard at work getting this done, I'm just not the fast. Thanks in advance for your patience.


	3. Getting on track

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This sucks,” Aramis groaned, leaning his head on his forearms where they circled the toilet. 
> 
> “It’ll pass,” was the only thing Porthos could think of offering, because it really did suck, but it always passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who left me kudos and comments. I really didn't think my AU would get this much attention when I started writing the first story, but here we are. 
> 
> As always, your feedback is very welcomed. Enjoy.

True to her word, Constance came by the next day to do another check-up, but the timing was anything but the best. When the buzzer sounded, Porthos nearly cursed out loud, not daring to turn his attention away for the boy. To say they had been arguing didn’t exactly cover it. 

Aramis just seemed to have snapped. 

He had been sitting on the couch one moment, lost in his own head like normal, and then screaming things that didn’t make sense the next. The outburst was so unexpected it actually sent Porthos into police mode, crouching behind the counter reaching for his personal weapon he kept strapped to his ankle. But Aramis didn’t notice, he was in his own little world, battling people or things only he could see. 

Now he had retreated back to his favorite corner, after having broken a fair amount of things in his fit. But Porthos ignored the mess. He watched the small boy huddle in on himself, forehead pressed into the wall while his white fisted knuckles gripped his hair so tightly it must be painful, and he was muttering to himself.

Porthos had tried to get his attention but the younger man didn’t react at all and he wasn’t sure he wanted to try touching him while he was in this state, the memory of last time still very much fresh in his thoughts. The buzzer sounded through the apartment a second time, making Porthos’ shoulders tense, but Aramis didn’t even flinch. Slowly, Porthos made his way towards the door to ring up Constance, never turning his back on the boy. He waited by the door for her, feeling as if the clock in the kitchen had slowed. Finally he heard the elevator bell and opened the door for the small woman before she had a chance to knock. He was relieved to see d’Artagnan had not accompanied his wife today, thankful for small favors.

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?” Constance questioned the moment her eyes locked with Porthos.

Sparing a glance backwards, Porthos turned back towards the approaching woman. I don’t know, he’s having some kind of fit.”

She pushed past him, her face reflecting her years of experience. “Show me.”

He pointed towards the living room, towards the corner where Aramis was still huddled, mumbling to himself and pulling at his hair.

Constance studied him for a second before letting her gaze sweep across the mess of broken living room furniture and glass shards. “How long has he been like this?”

“Umm, maybe 10 minutes or so,” Porthos guessed glancing at the clock in the kitchen. “He’s not making a lot of sense, just screamed mostly.”

She nodded without turning her attention away from the huddled form. Slowly she made her way forwards, indicating for Porthos to stay where he was, something the other man didn’t feel comfortable with at all.

“Cosntance…”

But she held up her hand, cutting him off.

As she crept closer she could hear him better, but she still couldn’t make out any words. They weren’t English, and yet they had this familiar litany to them that Constance couldn’t place. Pushing the thought aside, she concentrated on the other symptoms she could see. 

Clammy, sweaty skin, dilated pupils, unresponsive, quick and irregular breathing. None of this really surprised her, it simply reconfirmed her initial diagnosed, but it also raised more red flags. This boy, despite his young age, was suffering some sort of serious drug withdrawal.

“Aramis,” she called softly, watching him carefully for any signs of recognition or response. His muttering increased slightly and he seemed to fold into himself a little tighter. Though it may not have been the response she had hoped for, anything was better than nothing. “Aramis,” she tried again. 

This time, the boy’s head twitched slightly, his muttering halting momentarily while his eyes worked to focus, a glint of recognition flashing through the haze. 

“Maman?”

That one word was filled with so much sorrow and anguish, that it caused Porthos’ heart to twist and ache. What has this kid been through?

“No, it’s just me, Constance.” She waited patiently, letting the words sink through the fog.

“Constance?” Aramis peered out from between his arms, his gaze searching out Constance’s. He held her gaze for some time, searching her face as if trying to make sense of something before looking over towards Porthos. His breathing evened out, and slowly, he lowered his arms, releasing his hair from his death grip. “Porthos?”

“Hey buddy,” the older man smiled reassuringly, ignoring the way Aramis’ shoulders shook, “ready to come sit on the couch? It’ll probably be easier on the butt than the floor.” His attempt to lighten the mood worked slightly as Aramis eyed the floor, suddenly realising where he was.

“Oh,” he stared up at the two adults, his pale cheeks slightly blushing in embarrassment.

Constance reached out to help him stand, placing a steady hand under his elbow, and pointedly ignored the way he was shaking or the flinch that accompanied the touch. But Aramis accepted the help and Constance easily maneuvered him around the broken glass that used to be a lamp, towards the couch.

Porthos paced a little not really sure how to help or even if he should. It seemed like Constance had everything well in hand and the fact that Aramis didn’t fight her off like he normally would with him was enough to keep him on the outskirts. Hoping to give them a little more time, he headed towards the kitchen. He was certain Constance had a thousand and one questions to ask and he didn’t think Aramis would appreciate an audience, even if it was him.

“Aramis? Do you remember me?” Constance asked once she had the boy sitting on the couch.

At first she wasn’t sure he had heard her, his attention busy scanning the broken objects littering the ground. His eyebrows were scrunched together in slight confusion, as if he wasn’t entire sure what happened. He almost looked lost.

“Aramis?” This time his heard turned towards her, his brown eyes focusing on her face. “Do you remember me?” She asked a second time, assuming he hadn’t heard her.

The corner of his lip curled upwards. “I’m not stupid, we met yesterday.”

Constance did her best to keep the surprise from her face. Gone was the clouded gaze, the lost demeanor and the incomprehensible mumbling. This was the face of a normal young boy; his eyes sparkling with life and his lip pulled up in a playfully smile. It was a complete change from what she had seen so far.

“Constance, d’Artagnan’s wife. A nurse.” He elaborated when Constance remained silent.

“Good,” she nodded, “do you mind if I do another check-up?”

A flash of fear crossed his face and his attention jumped to the abandoned medical bag that had been dropped in the entryway when she arrived. For a second she thought he was going to refuse, but he gave her a small nod.

Porthos watched from the kitchen. It amazed him how much he trusted Constance when he barely knew her. It had taken Porthos a whole week to get that level of trust. Maybe it wasn’t personal, maybe Aramis just trusted women more than men. 

About half way through her check-up, she noticed Aramis starting to slump, his eyelids drifting closed in fatigue. He barely objected when she guided him down, helping him lift his legs and pulling down a blanket around him.

She was sure he must have been asleep before his head even touched the pillow. She quietly gathered her things and headed towards the kitchen where she knew Porthos has waiting for her.

“Does that happen often?”

“It’s happened a few times,” he answered honestly, not entirely sure of the exact number anymore. “The first time it happened, he didn’t snap out of it as quickly; came out swinging at me before having a seizure.”

“Porthos he needs a proper medical check-up, and possibly an MRI.”

“MRI?” Porthos was surprised, he really didn’t think it was that bad.

“Normal people don’t have fits like that,” she fixed the other man with a stern stare, wanting to get her point across. “And if this is drug withdrawal, and stress if because we still don’t really know, we need to know what it is to be able to get him treatment, because whatever it is, it’s affecting his mental capabilities. Depending on the drug and the duration of exposure, we could be talking permanent damage.”

This was something he hadn’t considered, but he knew she was right. If he had been taking drugs for a long time, considering his age, it could have done permanent damage to his body or brain. “Give me a week. I’ll stay with him and make sure he’s not taking anything, and we can see after that.”

Constance didn’t look thrilled with the idea. Her professional side kept telling her to call an ambulance right now, but she had seen how Aramis had reacted to her medical bag, and she knew he wouldn’t go quietly. This really was a tough situation.

“Alright,” she finally agreed, “one week. I don’t like it, but one week. And I’m coming every day to check on him and I want you to keep a journal; what he does, eats or says and when.”

Porthos nodded. He wasn’t sure if one week was going to make that much of a difference, but he found himself hoping for the best, not ready to give up on Aramis just yet.

**

“This sucks,” Aramis groaned, leaning his head on his forearms where they circled the toilet. 

“It’ll pass,” was the only thing Porthos could think of offering, because it really did suck, but it always passed. Already they were on day three, and things were better, well slightly better.

He had taken the week off, as promised, to keep an eye on Aramis, despite the boy’s sarcastic remarks of not needing a babysitter. Other than the clothes on his back, Aramis hadn’t brought anything else with him, which made Porthos re-questions the whole drug abuse thing. And now with Porthos watching his every move, there was no way that Aramis had anything hidden in the apartment. But more puzzling was the fact that Aramis wasn’t looking for any chances to slip off on his own. If he was as addicted as Constance seemed to think he was, then surely he would constantly be looking for an opportunity to be alone. 

But he didn’t. So either they had it all wrong or he was just really good at pretending. He tried asking Aramis a few different times about living on the streets, picking his words very carefully but the boy either gave him some flippant remark or no answer at all. It was frustrating.

When Aramis finally sat back, his sweaty back pressed against the cold tile wall, Porthos passed him a cup of water to rinse out his mouth. This had been the norm lately. Anything Aramis tried to eat sent his stomach churning. The first few times, Aramis had been less than pleased to have the older man around to witness him being sick, his mere presence making him very uncomfortable, but as the dry heaves started taking their toll on his already weak body, he started to, albeit reluctantly, accept the other man’s help.

After Aramis spat out another mouthful of water, he handed the cup back to Porthos and rested his head back against the tiles, his eyes closed. Porthos didn’t have to touch him to know his fever was climbing again. Aramis looked utterly wrecked. Day three he reminded himself. 

“Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” 

Aramis didn’t move and so Porthos waited. With Aramis, patience was the name of the game, and he was getting good at it. He quickly discovered that once you knew the rules, you could almost read Aramis’ non-verbal like a book, a discovery that allowed him to diffuse many panic attacks before they started. But it still wasn’t an exact science.

Finally Aramis slowly pulled himself to his feet, using the vanity as leverage and nearly collapsed when a wave of dizziness hit, but Porthos reached out a steady hand to help. He took it as a victory when the small gesture wasn’t shrugged off.

They made their way slowly back to the living room, and Porthos steered him towards the couch. Left to his own choice, Aramis usually slept huddled in the corner, a much less comfortable choice although he doubted the choice had anything to do with comfort.

“There ya go, I’ll get you something to drink,” he offered once the boy was settled.

It was rare to see his fridge so well stocked, just one more thing that had changed in the last few days. This was the most food he had ever had in his apartment at one time, more food than he felt comfortable having. But it wasn’t just for him.

Grabbing a can of ginger ale, something his mother had always given him when he was sick, and a can of pop for himself, he headed back towards the living room.

“Here, this will help settle your stomach.”

Aramis didn’t look up or move to grab the can. “Why do you care?”

The words weren’t angry or bitter, but they still carried such weight that Porthos knew Aramis must having been pondering it for some time.

“Why do you care if I live or die?” he asked again, this time looking up to meet the older man’s eye. 

Porthos had seen many different versions of Aramis in their short time together, but that rare moment after the d’Artagnan’s left, where Aramis was calm and for lack of better words, lucid, kept circling in his thoughts. He was convinced that had been the real Aramis peeking through the haze, and the confused and incoherent version he normally dealt with was just an outer layer, a protective shell.

But this was the real Aramis again, his brown eyes alight with fire and life, focused and alert.

Porthos knew he had to handle this conversation very carefully, remembering how quickly the moment had passed last time. He took a seat in the arm chair across from the boy, making sure to give him some space.

“I lived on the streets too for a little bit,” he explained, “until someone saw something in me and gave me hand.” He purposefully avoided using the word help this time. “Just some total strange who had no reason to take a chance on me.”

“So what, now it’s your turn to take in a charity case?”

Porthos ignored the comment, “Growing up, it was always just my mum and me, never met my dad. Mum worked hard to keep us fed but some days, even that wasn’t enough. Then she got sick. We had to sell everything to pay for treatment but in the end it didn’t matter. I moved from foster home to foster home, and eventually I fell in with the wrong crowd. Things would have ended very different for me if it hadn’t been for Captain Treville.” From the corner of his eye he could see he had Aramis’ full attention.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is it’s alright to accept help from someone else, especially when you’re alone” he was encouraged when Aramis didn’t shut down.

“Who say’s I’m alone?” The tone was defensive, guarded, but this was the first real personal conversation they’ve had so far, and so Porthos decided to push a little.

“You seemed alone when I met you in the alley,” he watched the boy for a reaction.

Aramis returned his gaze, his brown eyes piercing as he seemed to be thinking about something. “I’m not alone, I have a family,” he finally admitted, although he seemed to doubt his own words. “I have a family,” he stated again, a little more certainty creeping in his voice, thought his words were starting to slur from fatigue.

Porthos was about to ask a few more questions, but the boy’s eyes were drooping shut and it looked like he was losing the battle to keep them open with every passing minute, something else that seemed to be happening a lot lately. “Get some sleep.” He helped him lie back, pulling the blanket to his chin.

“I have a family,” he whispered, half asleep, “m’ not alone, they’ll come for me.”

Balancing the unopened cans in his hands, Porthos wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but he didn’t doubt for a second that Aramis believed it to be true and for now, that’s all that mattered.

Constance came every night around 7pm, to check up on the progress. She seemed pleased be the progress but she was still convinced he would do better with proper medical care. D’Artagnan came a few times as well, his mere presence causing the boy to be more guarded and tense. 

Porthos had kept a journal, as promised, though he knew it didn’t measure up to Constance’s standards. He had found it best to wait till Aramis was sleeping before adding new entries after the near panic attack that resulted in the boy noticing the older man scribbling away notes during the first day.

Add that to the growing list of things that made Aramis nervous: being watched.

****

The rest of the week passed easy enough, well easier than the first few days anyway. He was eating more and he was able to keep most of it down. His overall colour had drastically improved, changing from a pale sickly green to just pale. Porthos also noticed the change in the boy’s behavior.

“Alright, I’m all done,” Constance stood up and he could practically see Aramis sigh in relief as he pulled in his arm. “You’re looking better.”

Aramis grinned, “Must be all the food Porthos has been forcing on me.”

Aramis had increasingly more moments of lucidness, during which times Porthos discovered he had a good sense of humor and loved to joke around, a quick retort always on the tip of his tongue but never in malice. But then he would lapse back into the land of confusion, his gaze searching around as if he couldn’t remember where he was or why he was there. 

Porthos was happy to note thought that as the days went on, Aramis was more and more lucid, his eyes alight with clarity and focus. Things where improving, that much was clear.

“Well, it’s been doing you some good.” She flashed him a broad smile, elated to see the young boy recovering so well.

Porthos had been texting her updates through-out the days, but she found them hard to believe. So far when she came at night to do her check-ups, Aramis was always resigned and quiet, eyeing her medical bag with the same open distrust and fear. But tonight was the first night where she was able to see the change in the teen. Though he was still weary of her medical equipment, he was calm and relaxed, answering her usual questions with a bit more life than he had in the past.

She waited till she heard the shower running before turning to Porthos, “Well he has improved. He’s gained weight, and his colour is better. Maybe this was the best thing for him. Although I still think he should get an MRI to make sure there’s no permanent damage done to his brain.”

“He’s starting to relax, maybe in a few months if he’s still around we could take him to the doctors to do a check-up.”

“You think he’ll still be here?”

Porthos could hear the doubt in her voice, something he knew d’Artagnan shared. “I don’t know, but I hope so.”

And he really did hope so. He didn’t know why, but deep down he really did hope so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 is done but now I need to get going on chapter 4 to fill in the gaps.


	4. Sudden realisations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t open the door,” Aramis whispered, his voice near panic not turning to face him, “don’t let them in. They’ll take us away.”
> 
> Porthos didn’t know how to react. “ Aramis…..,” his voice trailed off when he caught to glint of a knife in the boy’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the longer than normal delay between updates, but it's hard to sit in front of a computer during the lovely summer months when the sun is just shinning. 
> 
> It's a short chapter but I thought I give you all something for your patience.

Two weeks. 

To Porthos those two full weeks had passed both slowly and quickly. Sometimes he felt like he was in slow motion, watching as Aramis was seemingly at war with himself, both physically and emotionally. But then time would speed up, hours passing in the blink of an eye when the boy was awake and alert, having normal conversations with the older man; just an average teen.

Everything was going so well.

He should have seen it coming. 

“Aramis? Are you okay?” 

Porthos had heard some rustling in the living room, and had gotten up fully expecting to find Aramis shaken from his sleep by a nightmare. 

Instead, he found the boy crouched by the hallway.

“Don’t open the door,” Aramis whispered, his voice near panic not turning to face him, “don’t let them in. They’ll take us away.”

Porthos didn’t know how to react. “ Aramis…..,” his voice trailed off when he caught to glint of a knife in the boy’s hand.

“Don’t open the door,” he simply repeated, eyeing the front door in a kind of frenzied panic, but his gaze would flicker back to Porthos, clearly acknowledging the man’s presence, all the while holding the knife tightly. 

Porthos’ heart nearly skipped a beat, his own panic rising. A quick glance towards the kitchen confirmed where he had gotten the knife, the one empty slot in the knife block staring back at him, but that did little to change the situation. Aramis was lost in some memory, armed with a knife.

This was by far not the first time Aramis had had a delusional fit, but it was the first time that he recognized and acknowledged Porthos’ presence, and so the older man decided to use that to his advantage.

“Aramis,” Porthos started calmly, “ it’s 3 am, no one’s here but us.”

“They’re waiting, don’t open the door.”

Porthos chewed on his bottom lip nervously, “who’s out there?”

“They know I’m here.” Aramis peered down to hall towards the door holding the knife as if ready to attack.

“Okay, okay,” Porthos crouched by the opposite wall, deciding to play along for now. “How many are there?”

Aramis paused, the knife lowering slightly as he turned towards Porthos. “What?”

“Outside, how many are there?”

The change in tactic seemed to distract him for a few seconds. “I don’t know…. “

“Okay, give me the knife.” Aramis frowned, clearly not willing to hand it over. “I’m bigger than you are, I can take more of them on.”

There was no denying the logic behind that and slowly Aramis stretched out his arm to hand the knife over to Porthos, his attention working overtime watching the door and the older man. Porthos waited anxiously as the handle got closer to his own outstretched hand, his breathe catching in his throat. 

When his fingers closed around the warm metal, he nearly wrenched it from the boy’s hand. 

“Jesus,” he breathed out, setting the knife safely on the floor beside him, well out of Aramis’ reach.

“They’re out there,” Aramis kept repeating, his attention turned back towards the door.

Porthos took an extra moment to calm himself, his hand still on the knife. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do.” The detective waited till he had the boy’s attention. “We’ll wait here, ready for them when they get in.”

Aramis’ large brown eyes simply stared back at him, not fully understanding. 

“They don’t know we know they’re out there.” Porthos explained, even though he knew there was no one out there. “So we’ll wait.”

Aramis thought about this, his gaze turning back towards the door. “Okay,” the boy finally agreed, nodding his head vigorously. “Okay, good idea, then we can attack first.”

“ummm…” Porthos struggled to find an answer, “if it comes to that.”

“Then we can get them before they get us,” Aramis continued more to himself, his hand coming up to rub against his head near his ear, something the older man had seen him do often.

The two lapsed into a heavy silence but Porthos was sure everyone in the building could hear his heart beating in his chest. Everytime Aramis shifted, Porthos tensed; not sure what to expect. He couldn’t tell for sure if the boy had any other weapons, but so far it looked like it was just the knife, now safely in Porthos’ hands.

He had a plan, maybe not the best plan, but Porthos had a plan. Aramis’ delusions never last long and so Porthos just had to wait it out. How long exactly, he didn’t know and so he settles himself more comfortably against the opposing wall.

Eventually, Aramis’ head started drooping down, his chin finally coming to rest on his chest. Porthos waited a few minutes, just to make sure the boy really was asleep. 

Slowly, Porthos started the move, keeping his eyes on the slumped form while he stretched out his legs. Aramis didn’t move, the rhythmic sound of his breathing filling the quiet space. Porthos pulled himself up, bringing the kitchen knife with him. Crossing the small space, he stopped in front of the knife block, anxious to replace the blade and put it out of harm’s way. 

This was a wakeup call for Porthos, and he could feel his hands shaking. For the first time since he brought the boy home, Porthos finally saw what the others did; Aramis was a danger to himself and to those around him. Up until now, he hadn’t given it much thought, he was just helping out a homeless boy, and not really taking the time to let any of it sink in. Suddenly his mind started running rampant with the endless possibilities of “What if’s”.

What if Aramis hadn’t recognised him? What if the boy had attacked? Then what? What would he have done?

Porthos shivered at the thought of having to fight off a knife wielding Aramis. These past 20 minutes could have gone in a totally different direction and he had only himself to blame; he really knew nothing about Aramis. Once his breathing calmed, he knew what he needed to do; something he should have done that second day.

Peeking around the corner to see if Aramis was still fast asleep, Porthos pulled out his phone and quickly sent out a text message. Once that was done, he made his way around towards the sleeping boy. 

Asleep, Aramis always looked younger, relaxed. Of course his face was a much different array of emotions when he was gripped by a nightmare, but in general the hard lines of distrust disappeared when he was sleeping.

“Aramis,” Porthos gently shook the small shoulder, taking care to keep a little distance. “Come on now, time to get up.”

Aramis’ eyes fluttered open slowly, finally coming to rest on the older man in front of him. Aramis didn’t question him, instead he let Porthos help him to his feet and lead him towards the couch. He was too exhausted to even realise where he had been and from his meek responses, Porthos could only assume that Aramis had no memory of what had happened just a few moments ago.

Tucking the blankets around the boy, Porthos could only hope that he had made the right decision.

Either way, he would have his answer in the morning.

****

Captain Treville didn’t know what to think when he first read Porthos’ text message. In fact he had to read through it few times before some of it started to sink in, and suddenly a lot of the past few weeks started to make sense; those awkward questions from D’Artagnan about homeless and missing kids, Porthos’s sudden request for time off when the man had never asked before.

He stared at the message, not sure how to respond. He had started typing a reply several times but he couldn’t find the right words. Eventually he decided that this was a situation best dealt with in person, and the sooner the better.


	5. Making Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis' gaze flickered to the Captain, studying him as he took a small step back. Porthos was a little shocked to see the hard gaze that leveled on the Captain, almost aggressive, but it didn’t take him long to see the small hand clutching something behind his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?? A new chapter??
> 
> Yes, a new chapter. I didn't abandon my story, I simply needed to take a step back. But I'm back on track. The chapters will be shorter but after this one, there are only two more. And as a thank you to everyone for reading/kudos/comments, there's a surprise for you all in the last chapter. You'll recognise it when you get to it.

The next morning found Captain Treville standing in Porthos’ living room, staring silently at the teen sleeping in a pile of blankets on the couch.

“Do you have any idea the trouble you could have gotten yourself into?” 

Though his Captain’s voice never wavered, he could easily see he was angry. “Captain there’s no law against taking in someone who needs help,” he quietly defended himself, really not wanting to wake up Aramis.

“He’s a minor!” Treville all but roared before lowering his voice. “There’s someone out there looking for him, someone that could easily accuse you of kidnapping him.”

Porthos had the decency to look slightly ashamed, honestly that thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Sir, he was in trouble, I was just trying to help.”

“And I believe you but there are procedures in place to protect both you and him; procedures, that as a police officer, I would have expected you to follow.” Treville paused to once more scrutinize the sleeping boy. “Porthos you could have jeopardized your entire career.”

Porthos knew his Captain was right on most points but he really wasn’t understanding why Treville was so angry.

“What if Aramis had accused you of taking him here for a less noble reason,” Treville added, seeing his detective’s confusion. He left the comment vague knowing Porthos was smart enough to understand the true meaning.

And Porthos did. “Jesus.”

“Am I right to assume D’Artagnan knows?” Porthos simply nodded, not trusting his voice. “Then I’m sure Constance also knows. So not only did you jeopardize your own career, but that of the D’Artagnans as well.”

Porthos felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. All he had wanted to do was help a homeless boy and in his mind he had done that, but he hadn’t taken the time to think it over clearly. Looking back, he knew he should have listened to D’Artagnan and file a police report. Damn.

“Porthos,” Treville’s calm voice cut through his inner thoughts. “You are going to bring him in to the station by tomorrow afternoon and file a report. I’m going to assign Cordet to the case.” 

The Captain gave his detective a level stare that quickly silenced any reply he might have had. Once he was sure Porthos understood, he nodded and headed out the door, not feeling the need to say anything else to the young man.

Porthos had a big heart, Treville had never doubted that, but taking in a minor without so much as a phone call to let his Captain know had Treville fuming. He would have been the first to do everything he could to assist Porthos but by not following to proper channels, this could be out of his hands. He trusted Cordet and knew the man would do what was best for Aramis, but there was no doubt Child service would now be involved. Let’s just hope that the agent assigned to the case would be as understanding.

***

The police station was bustling with activity, as you would expect for a Tuesday afternoon. Aramis had been in good spirits leaving the apartment but as they headed further into the heart of the city, Porthos could see Aramis’ anxiety levels rising. Porthos had taken the time to explain everything to him, and after what seemed like hours of reassuring Aramis that he wasn’t going to abandon him anywhere, the boy finally, but hesitantly, allowed the older man to lead him to the parking lot and then the truck.

“Just breathe Aramis, we’ll be back at the apartment shortly okay?” He watched as Aramis slowly took in a shaky breath before letting it go, his eyes never leaving the front entrance of the building. “Do you trust me?”

Slowly Aramis nodded, but the fact that it took a moment’s thoughts caught his attention. “Aramis, it’s just standard procedure. We’ll be in and out in no time.” Again Aramis simply nodded.

Good enough, Porthos thought as he pushed his door open, glade to see Aramis do the same. The two made their way towards the station and with every step Porthos half expected Aramis to bolt, but the boy stayed by his side, almost as if he was too afraid to go anywhere else. Or he had nowhere else to go.

Thankfully, they were able to make it to his desk without incident, though he had to grab Aramis’ arm to stop him from bolting when Serge stopped to say hello, as well as taking the stairs up the three flights. 

The coming and going of people around Aramis made him jumpy, regardless of the fact that most of them didn’t even look at him. Clearly there were just too many people here for Aramis to feel comfortable, another thing to add to the growing list.

D’Artagnan wasn’t at his desk, as he’d hoped, and so he steered the boy towards Treville’s office, knowing he couldn’t leave Aramis sitting there out in the open, but Treville wasn’t there either.

“Okay, can you stay here for me while I find the Captain?” Aramis’ eyes grew wide. “Just for two seconds. Look you can lock yourself in if you’d like.” Porthos offered, showing him that the door did indeed lock from the inside. 

That seemed to make the boy relax slightly but as Porthos walked away to ask around, he couldn’t help but feel like Aramis might still make a run for it. If that was true, then he’d better hurry.

Luckily, Captain Treville wasn’t very far and Porthos easily found the man in the coffee break area talking with D’Artagnan. From the look on his partner’s face, Porthos could only assume he too was getting an earful for his role in Aramis’ living arrangements.

“Umm Captain?” Porthos suddenly felt nervous, “Aramis is here to meet Cordet.”

Something that could have been a smile graced Treville’s features before the Captain nodded and gestured for Porthos to lead the way. 

They walked back to Treville’s office, Porthos leading the way and trying not to run. Please Aramis, please still be there. 

And he was.

Frightened and nearly cowering behind the giant desk. But he was still there.

His whole body tensed as the men approached. “I’ll go find Cordet and tell him he’s here.” D’Artagnan offered, fully aware of how the boy’s gaze followed him through the office windows as he headed left. Thought he still didn’t entire trust the boy, mainly out of fear for Porthos, D’Artagnan did feel responsible for the distrust Aramis felt towards him. Somehow, he needed to find a way to smooth things over with Aramis. 

“Aramis,” Porthos called out as he approached the open door. “This is Captain Treville.” 

Aramis' gaze flickered to the Captain, studying him as he took a small step back. Porthos was a little shocked to see the hard gaze that leveled on the Captain, almost aggressive, but it didn’t take him long to see the small hand clutching something behind his back. 

“Captain, why don’t you give us a second,” he asked over his shoulder, trying hard to keep his voice calm. 

Treville was no fool and knew something was wrong, but he didn’t push. 

Porthos waited till Treville left. “Aramis, give it to me,” he asked stretching out his hand. “Please Aramis.” 

But the boy didn’t move, his right hand still held behind his back.

“These are good people,” Porthos took a small step forwards, happy to see that Aramis didn’t move away. “I trust them with my life. You said you trusted me when we got here, remember?” Aramis nodded slowly. “Then trust me to trust them.”

Aramis’ hard stare softened slightly before he turned his attention to the floor, his face hidden behind his bangs. Slowly, he brought his hand out from behind his back, holding out a letter opener he must have taken from the Captain’s desk.

“Thank you.” Porthos nearly had to pry the boy’s fingers off the small handle. Instead of replacing it on the desk, Porthos crossed the small room and placed it atop the filing cabinet, and hopefully out of arms reach for the smaller boy.

When Cordet arrived, Porthos had to put an arm around the boy when he suddenly jumped towards the door. To his credit though, Cordet acted as if he hadn’t noticed; no doubt his experience with homeless and runaways. He chatted pleasantly and smiled, making eye contact but never too long. He barely even seemed to notice when Aramis’ fingers twitched, looking for anything to use as a weapon. 

Cordet asked simple questions, not pressing too much if Aramis didn’t answer, but always thanking or praising him when he did say something, even though it was just one word and in most cases not at all informative.

All the while Porthos did his best not to let his own anxiety show. He kept his gaze on Aramis. The moment Cordet arrived, Aramis’ shoulders squared and his back tensed in a way he hadn’t seen before, and it made him nervous. Just when he thought he had seen every side of him, Aramis showed him something new. And one thing he’d learned was that any new behavior made Aramis very unpredictable.

“Alright, thanks Aramis,” Cordet looked up towards Porthos, “I actually have a few questions for you, if we could maybe step outside for a few seconds.”

Porthos nodded, his eyes never leaving his young friend’s back. “Aramis, I’ll just be outside okay?”

Aramis didn’t really acknowledge what either man said, his hard gaze still tracking Cordet’s movements untrustingly, his shoulders slightly hunched over like a caged animal ready to attack.

“Aramis?” Finally the boy met his gaze and nodded.

Porthos crossed the small row of desks, his steps feeling heavy as he made his way towards the waiting Cordet. 

“Is there anything else you can tell me about him?” Cordet asked.

“No, he wasn’t very forthcoming with any personal details.” Porthos slouched back against a desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “I picked him up in an alley in the Birchhaven district.”

“Well I’m not surprised,” Cordet closed his file, “I see this all the time with runaways. I doubt anything he’s told either of us is true, including his name.”

Porthos had suspected it but there was just something about hearing someone else say it. “So what happens now?”

“I’ll run what little information I have against the database, see if something comes up. In the mean time I’ll call CPS but Treville told me that the boy needs to stay in police custody for the time being.”

He was sure the surprise showed on his face but Cordet didn’t comment on it. “He’ll also need a medical check-up.” This time he made sure to make eye-contact with Porthos. “It’s standard protocol for any child entering into police or CPS custody.”

He suddenly found it hard to breathe. It had been a task in itself to get Aramis here and Porthos knew for a fact, he wouldn’t be able to get a cooperative Aramis anywhere near a hospital. 

“But Aramis won’t agree to see a doctor,” Cordet continued, easily reading Porthos’ fears. “I’ve been doing this for a long time Porthos, I’ve gotten good at reading these kids; their fears, their past, their stories. The kids, those who end up on the streets, they’re always running from something, you can see it in their eyes.”

“So what can you see about Aramis?”

Porthos had tried to get more insight into Aramis past, using all his experience and instincts to gather what little information Aramis had shared in order to get some sort of global picture. 

“Not much, apart from the blatantly obvious trust issues. For the most part it’s hard to tell if he’s lying or not. If anything, he’s been telling himself lies for so long that he believes them.”

“Thanks Cordet.” Porthos really couldn’t have asked for anyone better to be assigned to Aramis’ case.

“And don’t worry about the medical check-up. There’s a pediatrician at the hospital who’s good with these kind of kids, maybe he’ll do a house call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will be moving along more quickly in the next chapter, I've got some ground to cover.
> 
> Till next time!


	6. Jumping hoops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life with Aramis was an adventure. Some days were easy and normal while others where comparable to trying to navigate a floundering boat through a hurricane storm while trying to avoid jutting rock cliffs. But overall, Aramis had settled on a joyfully, easy-going version of himself, which Porthos took to be the real Aramis that lurked under all the outer layers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I've official finished writing this story! There is one last chapter (which was the first chapter I wrote and didn't fit in the original story) and I promise not to make you guys wait as long for it. I'll upload it some time next week.
> 
> I know I quickly skipped through some things but I found it was necessary since all the outstanding questions get answered in New Life, New Family.
> 
> I'm sorry for any typos, but after reading and re-reading this one chapter for what felt like months, I'm blind to them.

Chapter 6: Jumping Hoops

D’Artagnan kept his distance, deciding to wait on the sidelines while Cordet and Porthos talked near his desk. This entire situation was hard for his partner but he did have faith in Godet, he was a good man, and would do everything in his power to help both Porthos and Aramis.

Just as he was about to turn back towards the small kitchen to get yet another cup of coffee, something caught his eye. Across the precinct, the door to Captain Treville’s office had moved, the reflection of light on the window pane catching the older detectives eye.

Aramis inched his way out of the office, his attention fixed on Porthos and Godet. In such a busy place filled with police officers, no one seemed to notice a young boy slinking his way towards the stairwell. 

Porthos and Cordet were still deep in conversation that they, like everyone else in the room, didn’t notice the boy’s hasty get away. In barely two steps he slipped past the stairwell doorway and D’Artagnan lept into action, as slowly as he could, he made his way towards the staircase and slipped in to follow the boy.

He was impressed by how quickly the teen had reached the bottom, but he knew Aramis hadn’t left yet since he hadn’t heard the door banging. Rounding the last landing he caught sight of the boy.

“So that’s it?” Aramis paused, his hands just about to push the bottom door open that lead outside, “you’re just going to leave?”

The silence that filled the stairwell was crushing and D’Artagnan suddenly felt like his was talking him of a ledge, carefully coming down the last few steps to be on the same level. “Aramis I know you might not trust me and I haven’t given you much reason to, but if you run you’ll just make it worse. Porthos, Captain Treville, Cordet; they’re doing everything they can to help you. If you run now they won’t be able to help you.”

Aramis hadn’t turned to face him, instead his hands still held the door handle, ready to shove it open at any moment. Deep down Aramis knew what the other man was saying was true, that logical side of him had kept his feet planted for the past 5 minutes while he tried to convince himself to stay, but that voice in his head, the one that had kept him alive so far, was screaming at him to run.

On the streets Aramis had lived by that one word; run. It was so deeply ingrained in every fiber of his being that often times he found his feet reacted long before his brain could think things through. And this time was no different. Before he could snap out of his instinctual reflex, he had already made it to the outside door, and for the first time it scared him. He didn’t remember coming down the flight of stairs, or leaving Captain’s Treville’s office. 

“Come on back upstairs, kid,”D’Artagnan suggested seeing Aramis’ shoulders slumping.” Porthos will be waiting for you.” 

Slowly, Aramis’ hands dropped from the handle as he turned to face the other man and D’Artagnan took that as a positive sign. “I’ll go first,” he offered as he took the first steps up, happy to see the teen following behind, albite at a distance.

As their footsteps echoed in the small space, D’Artagnan finally got a glimpse of what his partner and his wife had seen weeks ago. Aramis needed help, that was for sure, but there was more to it than that. In that split second when Aramis had turned and their eyes met, D’Artagnan saw confusion and fear plaguing a soul that was much too young, and he vowed to offer all the help he could.

***

Dr. Lemay came a few days later to do his medical evaluation. He had a kind and gentle nature about him that allowed him to easily gain Aramis’ trust, although to be fair Porthos was finding it easier to approach the boy as the weeks went on. As he watched Dr. Lemay’s careful administrations, Porthos found himself wondering, for what must have been the thousand’s time, what could have possibly happened to this boy in the past. Many different scenarios ran through his mind, most of them stitched together from past cases he had seen, but with each new thought came more questions without answers.

It was a story he desperately wanted to hear but he knew he needed to wait till Aramis was ready to share it, and it was still up for debate whether or not the youth would ever feel comfortable around others to share his past.

For his part, Aramis sat on the edge of the couch, his shoulders tense and his back straight, while he watched the doctor with trepidation. He had accepted that this was a necessary step, but he still didn’t like the idea of having anyone so close to him.

“I’m almost done Aramis,” Dr. Lemay casually commented, while keeping himself busy.  
Aramis’ left hand tightened in a fist, causing his knuckles to turn a paler shade than they already were while he gritted his teeth, the only outwards signs that he had heard what the other man said, but still his sat there and allowed the doctor to do what he needed to do.  
When the check-up was finished, Dr. Lemay politely excused himself before leaving, telling Porthos on his way out that he would call at a later time to set up a meeting with him and Cordet to go over the medical report.

“What next?” Aramis’ sarcastic tone cut through the small space once Dr. Lemay left. “Any more hoops you want me to jump through?”

Porthos was caught by surprise by the harshness of the words, something he hadn’t seen before in the otherwise soft spoken boy. “First off, I’m not asking you to jump through hoops,” he started not really sure where this was coming from. “I should have brought you to the doctors weeks ago, its standard procedure. And no, that should be the last for now.”

Aramis didn’t answer. He was still sitting on the couch but he had his face turned away, making it harder for Porthos to read his non-verbal, but as the seconds ticked by, it was clear that he was not going to respond. At this point Porthos could see that the boy had closed in on himself again, lost in his own thoughts while shutting everyone else out.

Dealing with Aramis had become a new challenge this past week alone, with Porthos doing his best to learn how to navigate the ever changing mind field. The old Aramis had been timid and sedated, making it easy for Porthos to develop a relationship with given his naturally gentle instincts and personality, but this new Aramis was showing signs of aggression and anger, and it had Porthos slightly worried, though he wasn’t going to admit it outloud.

“I’ll make us something to eat, ‘kay?” Still no answer came, but Porthos wasn’t expecting any.

***

The next hoop, as Aramis called it, was the rather unexpected visit from child protection services. As the agent, a M Marsac roamed through the apartment making small talk and casually checking things off on his clipboard, Porthos kept his eye on Aramis, who had slowly gravitated towards the living room corner, his gaze never leaving the new intruder. A few times Porthos redirected Marsac away from the boy, hoping to avoid as much tension as possible, since at that moment Aramis looked like a caged animal ready to attack anyone who came too close to him.

Marsac either didn’t notice or felt it best not to acknowledge, Porthos couldn’t be sure as he watched the man continue on his inspection. Within a half hour he was gone, telling Porthos on his way out that he hadn’t found any issues with the current living arrangements and that, unofficially, Aramis would stay in Porthos care.

“Aramis that means you get to stay here with me!” Porthos summarized, hoping that the small piece of good news would help ease Aramis’ growing tension. “Aramis?”

Rounding the corner, he was surprised to find Aramis huddle in the corner, something that a few weeks ago had been expected but not lately. Porthos heart dropped at the sight of him, sitting flush against the wall, both hands buried in his brown hair, a look of total absence on his face that just made Porthos feel useless.

Making his way over, he slid down the wall next to him, hoping to offer him some sort of comfort when he knew that words would just fall on deaf ears, and he settled knowing it could take a while for Aramis to resurface from whatever horrors he couldn’t escape.

****

Life with Aramis was an adventure. Some days were easy and normal while others where comparable to trying to navigate a floundering boat through a hurricane storm while trying to avoid jutting rock cliffs. But overall, Aramis had settled on a joyfully, easy-going version of himself, which Porthos took to be the real Aramis that lurked under all the outer layers.

Porthos also discovered Aramis had a hard time making decisions, the boy quickly becoming overwhelmed while his anxiety skyrocketed to the point of panic attacks, which could be anything from gasping for breath to violent outbursts. He still didn’t know what triggered it, sometimes the panic attacks seemed to come out of nowhere, but he did feel he was getting better at dealing with them. And so they started their second month with a general ease and calm that came from routine, and the longer he stayed with Porthos, the more mild-tempered he became.

He had always been honest with Aramis, but he had filtered certain things from him, hoping to shield the boy for unnecessary stress. One of those things was the fact that it was getting harder and harder to keep Child Protective Services away, and Porthos was starting to worry the agency might relocate Aramis.

But that was about to change. After weeks of thinking about it, he now had the papers in his hands and he couldn’t wait to tell Aramis. They had talked about it a few weeks ago when Porthos had brought up the topic, testing the waters. Aramis seemed excited about the option, prompting the detective to go ahead with the process.

The wait for the elevator was beyond excruciating, and when the door slid open, he had to force himself not to run.

“Aramis?” He called the second he turned the doorknob.

“In here,” came the reply. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” 

He found the boy sitting in the living room, a book balanced on his knees and he suddenly felt nervous, not entirely sure of himself anymore.

“Do I have something on my face?” Aramis asked making Porthos realise he was just standing there staring at the boy.

“Here, these are for you.” He handed Aramis the papers, giving the boy time to read them.

Aramis scanned the pages carefully, not entirely sure what it all meant.

“They’re the papers for me to be your legal guardian.”

Aramis didn’t say anything, he just kept staring at the papers as a cold numbness starting spreading through his body, his panic slowly rising.

Putting the papers down, he slowly stood up taking a few steps away from Porthos, the older man instantly recognising the change of mood.

“No, I’m not yours,” the words rushed out, confusing the other man. “I’m not yours.” Porthos took a step towards him trying to calm him. “YOU CANT’T MAKE ME STAY!!!” he shouted towards Porthos before turning his attention to the empty living room, “NONE OF YOU!! YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!!!” He pointed his finger to the empty room, his eyes focusing on something only he could see.

“We talked about this,” Porthos explained as calmly as he could, given the situation.

“I’m not yours!” Aramis practically shouted, his voice pitching with panic. “You can’t buy me!!”

“Aramis I’m not buying you,” he tried once again to explain.

Aramis, on the other hand was not hearing a word of it, too worked up to even let the words sink in. “I knew you were like the others! All of you!” he continued shouting, swinging out his right arm for emphasis to an audience that didn’t exist.

“It just means that you’ll get to stay with me indefinitely,” he tried again, hoping his voice didn’t betray his growing frustration, “we talked about this last week. It’s just paper work and…”

“NO!! I’m not signing anything! They warned me. They told me you would …. That you would …” Aramis trailed as if he lost his own trail of thought, his attention still going back to whoever they were. His eyes glossed over and took on that distant look that told Porthos the boy had retreated back into his own thoughts.

“Aramis, I don’t know what else to do!” Porthos had never raised his voice with Aramis before and he instantly regretted it. He took in a deep breath to calm himself before trying again in a softer tone. “I’m trying, but you gotta meet me half way. Help me out here.”

Aramis’ attention turned towards him, his eyes darkening as his gaze turned hard, and Porthos readied himself for a fight he knew was coming.

“No.” 

The one word came out clear and calm, and carried with it such determination and weight that spoke volumes of his resolve, catching Porthos completely off guard.

Porthos’s patience finally ran out. “Fine, if you don’t want to stay then LEAVE!”

He regretted the words the moment he’d said them but his own anger and pride prevented him from apologising. He couldn’t understand why Aramis had changed his mind now. For months Aramis had given him every indication that he wanted to stay, and now all of a sudden he was acting like Porthos had deliberately trapped him, and Porthos had reached his limit.

There was no hiding the shock and betrayal Aramis felt, and all the fight suddenly drained from him, leaving his body feeling weak. It had been difficult for him to trust anyone, for reasons he wasn’t really sure he himself understood, but despite it all he had allowed himself to let Porthos in, which made those words cut much deeper into his core than he thought possible.

“I’m sorry,...” he tried to offer but Aramis wasn’t listening, he had already shut him out. Aramis quickly brushed past him on his way towards the door, and though Porthos wanted to stop him, he knew reaching out and grabbing the boy’s arm would be a mistake. “Aramis, wait..” 

But Aramis was already gone.


	7. Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I messed up,” he felt himself slouching in his seat, saying out loud the words that have been swirling in his mind all afternoon. “I got into a huge fight with a friend. He’s a cool guy and he’s been really nice, giving me a place to stay, and I just totally blew up in his face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the last chapter! (And it's my favorite one) 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for the comments, kudos and even just the pageviews. It's really humbling. Thank your patience since I know I'm not the fastest to update, but I can promise you that any story I start will always be finished.
> 
> Now I'm off to work on my many ideas for one-shot stories. Till next time!  
> Kaze

*****

“Mind if I sit here?”

Aramis looked up in total surprise, the voice so near to him startling him from his thoughts. He must have looked it because the young woman smiled warmly holding out her hands in front of her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she apologised. “May I?” 

She indicated to the spot on the bench next to him and Aramis simply nodded, moving over to give her a little more space. He watched as she put her shopping bags on the ground, only now noticing she was pregnant, before sitting down on the bench, her hands instinctively rubbing her large stomach through the thin fabric.

“Thank you, I’ve been on my feet all morning and this little one keeps moving around.” 

The two fell into an awkward silence. Aramis didn’t really know what to say as his mind was still making somersaults, and to be honest he wasn’t really in the mood for company, but even he knew it would have been rude of him to just get up and leave. He tried to think of things he had heard other people talk about when someone was pregnant.

“When is your baby due?” He finally asked, still feeling very awkward with the conversation, having spent the better part of his life avoiding any and all strangers.

She smiled, staring down at her stomach fondly, “next month, almost to the day.” Looking up she caught his eye before Aramis quickly looked away. “My name’s Caroline,” she offered.

“Aramis,” he answered, though not entirely sure why. The voice inside his head was yelling at him to run, like it always did when someone approached him, but his gut told him something differently; there was just something about her that instantly won his trust, just like it had with Porthos. 

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Aramis.” 

Aramis once again found it hard to maintain eye contact, feeling like her gaze could see straight into his soul, and the last thing he wanted right now was to let someone else see just how damaged he really was. Sensing she was making him uncomfortable, she turned her attention to the birds that jumped from branch to branch while she hummed softly to herself.

He watched from the corner of his eye as she riffled through her hand bag before pulling out an apple. 

“Would you like one?” she held the fruit out towards him. “I have a second one.”

Aramis wanted to refuse but his stomach groaned loudly at the thought of food. Since leaving Porthos’ apartment, he wandered around the street not sure where to go or what to do, and eventually had taken a seat on this bench. Her smile told him she had heard it too and Aramis accepted the apple with a polite thank you.

“You seem lost,” she said after a while. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

Aramis swallowed the piece in his mouth before he choked; a little unnerved that she was able to see straight through him.

“No, I have nowhere to be,” he answered honestly, his voice lacking its usual charm. “So, umm.… what are you going to name your baby?” he asked trying to change the topic.

“Roselyne,” she answered after studying him for a few seconds, “after my grandmother. She owned a large property just on the outskirts of town with horses, and she would take me ridding. I would spend all my summers with her.”

“You’re lucky then, to have someone who cares about you.” Aramis once again felt the pangs of guilt knotting his stomach. He did have someone, or had someone.

“Luck’s a tricky thing…,” she spoke softly, her voice taking on a sadder tone. “It’s very subjective I find. Everybody seems to think everybody else is lucky for something or another. Some people might think you were lucky. You’re young, healthy and you have your whole life ahead of you.”

Aramis met her gaze this time. He could have sworn he had seen a change come over her face, but just as quickly it was gone, her face softening into a smile that despite her best efforts, didn’t entirely reach her eyes. 

For the first time since she sat down, Aramis took the time to look at her. She was very pretty; her chestnut hair swaying gently in the wind, landing just below her shoulders and her skin was pale and smooth with eyes clear and blue as ice. But despite all that, Aramis could see the glint of something else, something he couldn’t quite place. 

“I’m not lucky,” he eventually admitted, turning his attention back to the birds. “Nothing about my life is lucky.”

The two finished their apples in silence, each lost in their own thoughts but Aramis had a hard time keeping the voices in his head quiet. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be bothering you with this,” he made to stand, fully intending to find any other bench somewhere, but the soft touch on his arm froze him in place. His heart began to race and he could feel himself tensing.

“Please stay, I didn’t mean to offend you,” she spoke each syllable warmly. 

He let out a deep breath to calm himself, fully aware that she didn’t deserve his bad temper. He wasn’t angry with her, and even less with Porthos. No this was all on him, and he knew it. His anger was a self defense mechanism, but sometimes he felt like he wasn’t the one in control, like he was watching from the outside with no way of stopping it.

Society had words to describe people like him; crazy, mentally unstable, psychotic, broken…  
But Porthos ---Porthos had never once made him feel like he was any of those things.

“I messed up,” he felt himself slouching in his seat, saying out loud the words that have been swirling in his mind all afternoon. “I got into a huge fight with a friend. He’s a cool guy and he’s been really nice, giving me a place to stay, and I just totally blew up in his face.”

He felt the tears threatening to spill over, regret churning in his stomach as he replayed the morning’s argument over and over. Caroline gave him a moment, understanding that there was a second conversation going on in the teens head.

“Well, I can’t be entirely sure but it sounds to me like this friend of yours,” she spoke softly trying not to sound patronising, “really does care about you and just wants to help. Maybe you should give him a chance. I think you owe it to yourself.”

Aramis huffed at the summary. He had realised hours ago that Porthos really did just want to help him and Aramis had exploded in his face, something he had regretted instantly, but his pride had kept him from going back. He saw how everyone looked at him. 

But Porthos was different. 

“An honest apology can go a long way, Aramis.” 

Aramis scrubbed a hand through his hair, tracing the faint scar on his right temple nervously. “What if…. What if he doesn’t want me back?” his voice sounded so small, even to his own ears as his deepest fears tainted his words.

“You’ll never know unless you go talk to him,” she patted his shoulder softly, pleased when the teen didn’t brush her off. “If I was your friend, no matter what happened, I wouldn’t want our friendship to have ended in an argument. Now, I really must be going, I’m already late for an appointment.”

He watched her gather her bags with as much ease as a woman who was 8 months pregnant, “Thank you Caroline.”

She stood to her full height, her skirt floating just below her knees. “It was my pleasure. Whatever you decide, I just hope our paths cross again in the future, then you’ll get to meet my baby. Goodbye Aramis,” she waved as she walked off.

“Hey, what if it’s a boy?” he suddenly realised their initial conversation had gotten sidetracked. “What will you name him?”

“Olivier,” she called back with a smile that lit up her face. 

She gave him another small wave before heading towards the parking lot, leaving Aramis alone with his thoughts, mulling over what she said. 

****

Porthos had a long day.

After Aramis had taken off, Porthos had been confused by the argument, not really sure how it had escalated as quickly as it had. He was morose all day, thinking over what Aramis had said and he always came to the same conclusions. Aramis wasn’t just some runaway drug addict, something had happened to him to make him so unstable. As a detective, he could see there was a lot missing in Aramis’ story, and he was starting to wonder if the exclusion of those facts were by design to remain anonymous or if they were holes in his memories.

After reporting in to work, he had driven around town looking for the teen, checking several times the street where he had initially found him, but he was nowhere. As the day wore on, he started to fear he wouldn’t find him, that Aramis was just gone.

By the time he pulled into his parking spot, the sun was starting to set. He gathered his things and took a deep breath before making his way to his building complex, trying hard not to think about how quiet and empty the apartment was going to seem.

He was so distracted by his thoughts, that he didn’t see the slouched figure before the teen stepped forwards to stand by the door. Aramis stood awkwardly staring down at his feet, not really sure what to say and to be honest, not entirely sure Porthos would forgive him. 

He had spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what he was going to say but as he stood there facing Porthos, all the carefully thought of words left him. He could feel his breath quickening and his mind tried to get the words out, but he began to lose his courage, the urge to turn tail and run growing again.

Porthos must have seen it. “It’s okay Aramis,” Porthos closed the distance between the two, hoping to help calm the teen. “I spent all day looking …..”

“I’m sorry,” the teen suddenly blurted out, finally finding his voice, but he could feel the tears forming in his eyes and he silently cursed his inability to keep himself under control. He could feel the tremors starting in his arms and the side of his head began to throb but he didn’t dare look up from the sidewalk, afraid of what he might see in Porthos’ eyes.

His whole body tensed when he felt a pair of large arm wrapped themselves around him, encircling him in a gently but firm hug, filling him with warmth and security, something he could only partially remember ever feeling before.

“You have nothing to be sorry for Aramis,” the deep voice rumbled against him. “It’s okay, you’re safe, just breathe.”

And he did, letting his whole body relax while fisting the back of Porthos’ shirt as he pressed his face against the bigger man’s chest.

“Just promise me one day you’ll tell me about it, alright? Whenever you’re able to.” Aramis simply nodded, still feeling emotionally overwhelmed. “How about we get you inside before you freeze, yah?”

He waited till Aramis had the time to wipe the moister from his eye before leading the boy towards the front doors. As he walked beside him towards the elevator, two things became abundantly clear to him. One was that Aramis was not entirely whole, physically or mentally, the scars clearly visible once you started looking, and the second was that despite their short time together, Aramis was now his family and he could no longer imagine his life without him. 

Maybe their meeting wasn’t just random after all.

Maybe it was fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY!! Little Athos makes an appearance of sorts.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the characters, I just messed with their ages. I do, however own all typos and mistakes.
> 
> Welcome back to the drama/angst/emotional rollercoaster that is my AU.


End file.
